


the body remembers

by rakuraiwielder



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: 3rd bad end, Angst, F/M, first time posting on this site what are tags, im probably gonna make a typo or something and only realise this 8 hours later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rakuraiwielder/pseuds/rakuraiwielder
Summary: You dream.





	

_A long long time ago…_

 

 

You dream sometimes.

  
Trapped waiting in your tower of paradise, there is little much you can do to pass the time. Every day you look out of the window between the stone walls, fingers skimming crimson silk of the curtains as you stare, wondering if this would be the day someone would come and see you.

  
Good things come to those that wait, so you resign yourself to another day of looking out to the stone courtyard. The angel always said a princess has to be patient and so you must, because what else can you do besides hope.

  
The world is stagnant outside, but alight with the brightest green and fading sunlight. A picture frozen in time, a perfect bubble away from civilisation, quiet and as peaceful as you pretend it to be. But sometimes, sometimes you dream of something else; a tower of glass and cement in a distant city of noise and voices, of a room with a desk and bed that felt so empty and sad.

  
Little black circles spin like constellations, holding stars that bear no name. You try to catch them, but they fall through your outstretched fingers like comets, shattering into a thousand and one splinters as they impale your flesh.

  
When you wake the letter **M** burns at the back of your throat like fire. Your fingers twitch as you breathe, heart stirring in thuds. You don’t know why, because you know that is not your ivory tower.

  
The door knocks, and you do not focus long enough to see the peeling edges behind frosted panes before heeding your angel’s call.

 

\------

 

The needle comes.

  
You remember a time where the angel refuses to leave your side, crooning promises of happiness and sweet nothings as you stumble in pretty dresses and heavy skirts as though you had never worn them before. He told you that you had been sickly and a slow learner, so most days he feeds you medicine and teaches you the etiquette you should have known long before.

 

You don’t remember anything from before then.

  
Curtsey, step, twirl, _smile for me, won’t you darling princess? Yes, just like that. Your prince would be delighted._

  
The needle comes more often those days; you often feel groggy, and the days pass like a daze in your fogged mind. You wanted it to stop, so you had told the angel this once. Teal eyes had looked at you gleefully, all sharp teeth and dark edges as he took your hand in his. You do not remember much after that, but a doll’s smile had been coaxed onto your lips once he was done, buzzing euphoria under your skin as you allowed your salvation to sink the sharp metal in once more.

  
Sometimes, you dream of screams in your head. Always a single muted voice, crying silently out into the darkness. You can see begging lips mouth off silent pleas, and you do not understand why until you wake up hours later with blood pounding in your ears and the echoing hum of a soft shush that sends shivers down your spine. You don’t talk much these days, your voice lost to the permanent daze in your head.

  
It hurts, being here; it still feels like you are suffocating, that soft sensual voice threatening to drown you in the shards of your own heart. You realise you are grimacing as you fixed your eyes at the silk red curtains. Why?

  
Unbidden, your hands clasp together tightly as though in prayer, but try as you might your memories never tell you why.

 

\------

 

Some nights you walk the halls.

  
During these moments when your daytime lessons weren’t enough to exhaust you and the emptiness of your room would be too much to bear, your body would pulse with the need to move. To wear yourself down to a place where even dreams could not reach, lest you dream of the wideness of your safe haven and take faux comfort in your never-ending patience.

  
After all, even princesses get lonely.

  
The angel never likes you wandering off on your own, because though this place was paradise he says you are not ready to experience the most of it yet. You are sure he is ignorant of your secret strolls, otherwise he would have stopped you by now, eyes icing over as his anger scorched.

  
You fear him when he gets like this. When his face twists into something horrific and he strides to you as though he was going to hurt you. But he seemed to be in a better mood the past few days. Recently he had returned from a long trip, humming about a new addition to the household. You wonder what they were like, if you would ever get to meet them.

  
The floorboards creak soundlessly as you thread down the stairs; you could feel the indents your soles make on the cool wood. Flickering lamps light the way down darkened corridors, beckoning you forward. You take a step and freeze at the sound of chains and a biting laugh.

  
You know, vaguely, of the matters that the angel takes care of. You have glimpsed it before; the look he would take, the way his eyes would cloud over, the way his teeth would bare. It stirs the same feeling of fear in your heart.

  
You go no further into the beckoning halls that night.

 

\------

 

The prince watches you with clouded eyes, voice slurred as he mumbles to the empty space that separates you both. His eyes glint like muted wine and you wonder, even with the foggy haze of your own, as he reaches out, if he really was the one. His fingers hover over your cheek, the heavy drape of his cloak suddenly closer, and your mouth parts to form an unconscious, silent oh.

  
The angel speaks your lines for you before you could attempt to try, eyes boring into the prince’s back expectantly. Muted wine flare with the slightest light, and suddenly the prince was fumbling back, confusion dancing with the pain in his eyes. Your frozen vocal cords pang, and you become painfully aware that your angel was shouting, arms pulling the prince away even as the latter groans into his hands.

  
You stare in muted daze, a living doll left alone as the assuring whispers of the angel fade. The lone star between raised curtains. For all the gleeful assurance that the angel had spun, the stranger prince was indeed handsome. But the way his hand had reached for you sent a peculiar sensation down your stomach, even though you had never seen him before.

 

…Haven’t you?

  
Your throat constricts, and for the first time in a long while you find your mouth parting with an unconscious intent to speak.

  
“Ze…” Slowly, you become aware to the slight crease forming between your brows. The room was spinning. Your head feels like it would explode at any moment, but you don’t understand why, even as your right arm moves outstretched towards the darkness of the stage.

  
“...nnn.”

  
Your dry tongue feels thick and uncomfortable, and when you next blink you find your hands over your mouth, shaking uncontrollably.

  
Shock filters through your veins, and though you tremble your eyes remained ever befuddled. Your chest is hurting with a dull ache. You don’t understand. It couldn’t have been the needle. Bile forms at the back of your throat when you attempt to collect yourself; and you shake harder as you back away into the nearest wall.

  
You don’t say the name again because something deep inside you hurts when you do, invisible bruises stinging as screams ring inside your ears and why is the angel -your angel- looking down at you suddenly and why is he saying such painful things no please, sto-

  
Your breath shudders as you blink back the memory…-no, no it couldn’t be- and you decide this must all be a trick because your angel would never, never…

  
_Your eyes are lying._

 

_No!_

  
It takes you too long to steady yourself, but by then the name is already lost to you, having been shattered like a comet in a distant dream. You stand, amidst slipping threads of confusion and insanity, and pat at the embroidery of your skirts; golden over deep red, like the silken curtains that you are strangely attached to, like the colour of his eyes.

  
Your fingers twitch, nails digging into the soft fabric as your feet wobble. But you utter nothing more as you return to your ivory tower, to the safe haven that both protects and traps you. You sit by the windowsill, hands folded neatly over your lap just the way you were taught to. And you wait, vacant eyes staring out to frozen freedom.

 

For the prince that would one day come.

  
Because that was the only thing you were ever taught to know.

 

 

 

_and she became happy, forever and ever._

  
The End

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this long ago but finally got the time to post it here.  
> I remember unlocking bad end 3 by accident and its messed up im messed up after so many weeks im still angry this is the angst tragedy that I always wanted but at what cost gdi-  
> Hope you guys enjoyed this! Will be posting a few more pieces on here in the coming days


End file.
